Shiver
by ThoroughlyConsumed
Summary: Ginny finds Harry after the battle. He's still quite torn up about everything that has happened, and she comforts him. Terrible summary, I know. The story's better I promise...


_Hello, Lovies! _

_M__y name is ThoroughlyConsumed. I have been editing and rewriting this fic for who knows how long and am now (gasp!) posting it._

_Anyways, all you really need to know is that this fic is set after the Hogwarts Battle. Harry is depressed about all the lives he couldn't save and… yeah, so read away! (I promise it's much better written than this hyper author's note.)_

_Disclaimer:__ No, I certainly do not own Harry Potter! Nor do I own the definition of shiver shown here (that credit goes to )_

_On a more serious note…_

**Shiver**

Shiver- a tremulous motion; a tremble or quiver

He's sitting on the floor with the water pouring all around him, drenching his clothes and causing them to adhere to his thin, bony body. His head is tilted down, his hair plastered to his bruised face, drops of water clinging to his glasses. There is a cut on his bottom lip, and scratches along his left cheek and jaw. He is shivering.

Ginny watches him for a minute before gently sliding off her shoes and slowly walking barefoot towards him. As she approaches, sprinkles of water deflect off of him and hit her, splattering her pale skin with glistening drops. She reaches his form and leisurely sits down in front of him; her clothes turn dark and damp and wet. She lifts his chin up with her small, freckled hands, and looks into his bright green eyes for a moment, only slightly blurred by the drops, not wavering or blinking, letting him know that she is there and solid and not ever leaving.

She watches a single drop roll slowly down his cheek and knows it isn't from the shower. She wipes it away with her thumb, letting the clean, new water wash the remaining salt away. She moves her hands down to his and takes them within her own. She pulls him to an upright position; he's unsteady, but manages to stand all right.

She stands there tightly grasping his hands, silently telling him everything she's glad for. He tightens his grip and rasps out an, "I'm sorry, Gin, so, so sorry."

She doesn't know exactly what he is apologizing for this time, whether it is something to do with all the sacrifices their side had to make or for leaving her or for pretending to have died and consequently ripping her heart in half or for nearly taking himself away from her forever.

But he's forgiven, he is always forgiven.

She smiles faintly and then leans toward him, gently touching her lips to his. She holds them there, feeling his battered lips shivering and shaking against her own. She whispers words against those lips, and they give him hope.

He has already heard about his accomplishments, about how everything is going back to normal, about how much those who were gone were loved, about how much those who died had believed in the cause- those aren't the words he needs now, and those aren't the words she gives him.

She whispers those three words again, and he finally begins to feel the tendrils of warmth spread into all the cold, unfeeling places in his body.

"I love you."

He stops shivering.

After a moment, he slides his hands down to grip her hips and pull her toward him, their wet bodies suddenly flush against one another. She buries her head in his neck, standing on her tip toes a bit, the dark red of her wet hair sliding under the blackness of his. One of his hands stays gripping her hip as the other runs up her back, resting just below her shoulder blade, clutching her to him desperately. As he does this, she responds by wrapping her arms tightly around him. She gasps at the emotion she can feel pulsing through his body.

She almost cries at the familiar position and sensations, at the way her body immediately responds to the touch of his, at the way that this feels so… so right, at a time when it should all feel so wrong.

And even though physically he is holding her, she is the one he clings to.

After what seems like minutes, she pulls away slightly and gently tugs him back to the floor, until he is sitting on the cold tiles again. She sits down beside him and takes his hands in hers and just looks at him for a moment, the water cascading down them as they stare at each other.

She slowly pushes him down so that he is lying on the floor, the muscles of his stomach rippling slightly as he does so. She stretches out beside him, never leaving the depths of those eyes. They hold a little less sorrow now than they did an hour ago, and she feels like maybe she has accomplished something.

He blinks at her, confusion and concern and sadness and love radiating back from behind his glasses. He was exhausted, she knew. Maybe she should let him sleep now.

She reaches out a hand to trace his face, feeling the sunken area under his eyes, the slope of his long nose, the long cut above his eyebrow, stroking his cheekbones, then sliding down to trace his jaw line and the line of his mouth.

He shivers again, very slightly at her touch and lets out a sudden breath as she reaches his chapped lips.

_Maybe_

Maybe he needed her more than he needed sleep right now.

She scoots forward and tucks a knee in between his legs, sliding up so that her chest presses against his in that perfect way and one of her hands wraps behind his neck, stroking the silky, unruly hair there. She watches him cautiously as her mouth slides closer until she finally, for the second time that night, touches her lips to his.

This kiss is different from any she had yet to have with Harry. It is slow and soft and yet desperate at the same time. It had been _so_ long. Much, much too long since this had happened, and dreams could not ever what was happening right now.

She presses herself even closer as her lips slide across his, sensual and _Merlin_, she had missed this. And she knows from the way that he's responding that he missed it too.

She slides her tongue smoothly into his mouth at the same time she rolls so that she is on top of him, her legs wrapped in his.

He groans, but in the best possible way and then grips her tighter, because he needs her more than air right now.

And as they pull themselves closer and grip tighter and kiss harder, she shivers and wonders at how something so beautiful could arise in this time of their sorrow.

Maybe they are being insensitive for not caring about anyone in the world but each other in this moment. But maybe they had both done enough to deserve this. Maybe they had earned their right to be together. Maybe, for a little while, Harry Potter and Ginny Weasley were allowed to be selfish and immerse themselves completely in each other.

Because _this_- this was more than worth the fight to get here.

_Hey again! I hope you liked it! And if you didn't, well, it wasn't very long, so I suppose I didn't take up too much of your time anyways. Just please keep your reviews flameless. I'm one of those annoying, sensitive gals. _

_Thanks for taking the time to read it. I love you all!_

_PS- I also happen to __love__ reviews. *Wink wink, Nudge nudge*_


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